


Her Name Follows me in the Wind

by makingitwork



Series: Peter/Stiles [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Claudia's Death, Happy Ending, M/M, Sniffles, father/son loving, slightly ooc Sheriff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claudia dies</p><p>and life after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Name Follows me in the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by:
> 
> seekeronthepath who said 'Maybe after Claudia's death? Peter comforting Stiles as a wolf?'
> 
> Lidil who said 'Claudia's death.'

Claudia died three weeks after Stiles’ eighth birthday.

All the Hale wolves shifted out on the preserve, and howled into the night, for it to be heard all across the town.

At the request of the Sheriff, and Talia, Peter stayed away for a day. But he couldn’t take any more than that. He knocked on the door, and Stiles answered it. He looked smaller than usual, paler than usual, his hair flopped into his eyes, and he was still in his pyjamas despite the fact it was two o’clock in the afternoon.

‘Hey, darlin’,’ Peter whispered, hoisting Stiles onto his hip and stepping into the house. ‘Where’s your dad?’

‘I don’t know.’ Stiles said, and Peter heard the steady heartbeat of truth while his own started thumping in alarm ‘I haven’t seen him since the hospital. He dropped me off here. Then he kept driving.’

Peter couldn’t help his growl. ‘When was the last time you ate?’

Stiles shrugged, picking at the collar of Peter’s shirt ‘I’m not very hungry, Wolfie.’ He laid his cheek on Peter’s shoulder ‘I don’t think I’ll be hungry for a long time.’

Peter splayed a hand on his back, walking into the kitchen and opening the cupboards. When there was no food Peter realised things were going to be bad. ‘Hey darlin’, you and me, we’re going to go out.’

‘But what if daddy comes back?’

Peter was suddenly in desperate need to leave the house. For Stiles to get away from the sour scent of Claudia that still lingered, the bitter scent of the stressing Sheriff and the staleness that hung in the air. ‘We’ll leave him a note. Come on,’ he scrawled a note, grabbed Stiles’ coat and scarf, and rushed from the house. He bundled Stiles up, and knelt before him. ‘I’m going to shift, Stiles baby, okay? And you’re going to climb onto my back, grip the fur and I’m going to take you to my house, yeah?’

Stiles sniffled, looking back at the house ‘what if daddy comes back?’ He repeated

‘We’ve left a note. He’ll find us.’

And then the two of them were running through the night. It was a warm night, and Stiles sat comfortably on his wolf, and Peter howled, so Derek met him, half shifted. ‘I’ll look for the Sheriff,’ Derek nodded ‘I’ll call you if I find anything,’ he ruffled Stiles’ hair, and leapt off. Stiles nestled into Peter’s head as they approached the house

‘D’you think Daddy ran away from me?’ Stiles asked, as Peter shifted, and carried Stiles into the house. He headed straight for the kitchen, where Talia had already started on chicken soup with vegetables.

‘No. No, of course not.’ Peter whispered, sitting beside Stiles with an am firm around him.

‘Mommy used to say sometimes,’ Stiles cleared his throat, reaching for the water Talia handed him ‘that I was killing her. I’d go inside sometimes…and she’d start screaming. Or she didn’t know me.’ He took a sip, scrunching up his nose ‘I know it’s the disease. I know she didn’t mean it. I looked it up in a book I borrowed from the library. But maybe daddy overheard her, maybe he didn’t know-‘

Talia hugged Stiles from behind, and hid her tears in his hair.

Stiles ate all his soup, and then Peter washed him in the bath with warm water and bubbles, and Stiles was silent. Like he’d never been in his entire life. Peter massaged his head, and dried him, and dressed him in one of his old Jumpers, that was almost a dress on the boy, and he settled them into Peter’s bed.

‘Why don’t I tell you a story?’ Peter asked, the golden glow of the bed side table lamp casting a gentle hue onto the walls ‘about mermaids and unicorns and all that garbage.’

Stiles smiled, but it was forced, and only there to make Peter feel better. Peter kissed his forehead and told the story anyway. Even if it wasn’t helping Stiles, Peter could pretend.

…

…

…

The funeral was meant to be intimate, but the entire town showed up. Everyone in black, Peter was one of the coffin carriers, and they all listened, head bowed, hands clasped; to a wonderful woman's life recounted by a religious man. The Sheriff had been found by Derek, asleep in his car parked up the highway near the edge of town. He sat beside his son, and both wept openly.

It started to rain near the end, and as people headed home, Peter stayed and watched the Sheriff and Stiles upturn their faces to the cold rain.

Two hours passed, before the Sheriff stood up ‘come on, son,’ he said quietly, holding out his hand ‘we should go home before you catch a cold.’

Stiles walked to the fresh dirt, and pressed his hand to it. And walked back to his father. ‘She’s in heaven, daddy. She’s happy. She’s okay.’

The Sheriff said nothing and Peter sighed at how wrong it was. Those words should have been said by the Sheriff to Stiles, not the other way around.

Two days later Peter and Derek went to the Stilinski house, but they both stopped in the open doorway, to see the Sheriff and Stiles fighting so intently that they didn’t notice the new intruders.

‘You have to stop drinking, daddy!’ Stiles screamed at the top of his voice, stamping one of his feet, looking so small and so red faced and so typical of a child having a tantrum if it wasn’t for the words he was saying ‘All you do is drink! It’s all you do!’ His eight year old voice was high and crying

The Sheriff glared at him ‘I have to drink! I have to, Stiles! She’s gone! She’s gone and fuck if I know how to look after a kid-‘

‘She’d hate you! She’d hate knowing you dr-

The Sheriff had slapped him.

Peter roared and the two wolves had pinned the Sheriff before anyone had time to blink. Stiles stared up at his father in shock, fat tears forming in his eyes, before he turned and sprinted out of the house.

‘Stiles-‘ John whispered ‘Stiles! Stiles! Wait-‘ he reeked of horror and disgust and shame, and Peter and Derek both had their fangs dropped but the Sheriff didn’t even notice ‘I hit him-‘ he started crying ‘I hit him- my son- my _Stiles-‘_ Peter had a hand on his throat, barely hearing the Sheriff's cries for help

‘You ever touch my mate like that!’ Peter roared but the Sheriff wasn’t listening. He was crying and calling for Stiles and Derek was shaking with nervousness. He didn't know what to do and he didn't know what was happening. The scent of the house was assaulting him and his ears felt as though they were bursting.

‘Uncle Peter?’ He tried quietly ‘we have to help him.’

They spent the whole night- calling down the rest of the pack- clearing the house. Talia stocked the kitchen full of fresh food, Laura and Cora cleaned the place and Derek threw out the old stale blankets and did the laundry. Peter and the Sheriff tipped out every drop of alcohol and it was only as the sun come up did Peter realise Stiles was gone.

He ran after him.

Stiles was curled up against his mother’s grave stone, with Scott beside him.

Scott woke up at the sound of Peter approaching, and the man smiled tightly at him ‘Does your mother know you’re here, Scott? I imagine she’ll be quite worried.’

Scott, only eight years old and defiant, crooked his jaw ‘He didn’t do anything wrong. I know what it’s like when your dad hits you. The Sheriff needs to say sorry and never _ever_ hit him again.’

The venom in his voice startled Peter, who reassessed the young Mcall. ‘I can take care of him, Scott,’ Peter said gently ‘but I’m so glad you’re here for him. Always.’

Scott frowned ‘I don’t trust you.’ He said finally ‘but Stiles does, so…’ He sighed ‘I’m gonna go home before my mom freaks out. Make sure he knows I didn’t leave till you showed up- I’ll know if you don’t.’

Peter smiled wanly, watching Scott leave, before picking Stiles up, and taking him home.

…

…

…

‘Daddy?’ Stiles blinked away, and the Sheriff kissed his forehead

‘Hey son, you okay? You’ve been asleep for a long time.’

‘You’re…carrying me?’ Stiles whispered, and John hugged him tighter ‘I thought you hated me.’ His voice was confused and his nose scrunched up

‘No,’ John nearly wept ‘no, no, not _ever._ I love you, I love you so much, and I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.’

The Sheriff was good after that. Was better. Goddamn fantastic. He became not only a father, but also a friend to Stiles, a best friend, a confidant and a fair father with a soft spot for his lanky son. Never ever laid a hand on him, and flipped almost like a were-wolf if anyone ever touched Stiles. Jackson was nearly arrested five times.

Sometimes though, when Stiles was feeling particularly low, it was Peter he needed. Peter to let him escape for a while, get into his head space and relax, and he’d fall limp against him, grateful there was someone who would just let him cry. Most of the time, it was easier if Peter was a wolf. Stiles could bury into his fur, and Peter would groom him slowly, carefully, howl with him.

‘I can’t cry in front of him,’ Stiles would hiccup into Peter’s shoulder ‘he can’t see me sad. I have to be strong.’

Peter would hold him, and nuzzle his boy as best he could.

…

…

…

‘Daddio!’ Stiles beams, hanging upside down from the Sheriff’s office door, and John sighs at his seventeen year old

‘Stiles,’ his father greets, tucking his son’s shirt into his jeans as it’s currently hanging down around his face. John catches Parrish sneaking a look at the pale strip of Stiles’ stomach before it’s gone, and wonders whether he’ll have to warn Peter. ‘What do you need, son?’

‘How dare you!’ Stiles squawks indignantly ‘can’t I just want to visit my most favourite father in the entire universe?’

The Sheriff swings the door open and Stiles yelps, climbing onto his Father despite being nearly his height, and settling down before him and grinning

‘Hi dad!’

The Sheriff smiles despite himself ‘Stiles.’

‘I thought, you and I, me and you, could grab lunch together.’

The Sheriff frowned ‘lunch?’

‘Yeah.’ Stiles pressed his lips together, before hunching in on himself a little, playing with the zipper of his hoodie ‘you’ve been working on the missing persons case for ages, I’ve just missed you, that’s all. I figured we could grab lunch at the new place down where Bennie’s used to be? You could order some salad and I’ll eat a double burger. Maybe I’ll let you sneak fries,’ he shrugged a little ‘I was just-‘

Stiles was cut off by a tight hug, the Sheriff ruffling his hair and Stiles sagged against his Father

‘I’ve just missed you, dad.’

‘I’ve missed you too, son,’ The Sheriff whispered, carding his fingers through Stiles’ hair, ‘we’ll have lunch. And I’ll try to get home a bit earlier so we can go back to having dinner together too,’

Stiles beamed at him, nudging him happily and sauntering out, waving a cheery goodbye to Parrish. John sighed in contentment. How’d he end up with a kid as good as Stiles?

…

…

…

‘Stiles,’ Peter called, and Stiles looked up from the grave to smile at his mate. Peter jogged to him, the wind blowing cruelly against their cheeks. He wrapped an arm around his seventeen year old mate and hugged him close. ‘You haven’t come here in a while,’

‘I know.’ Stiles said quietly ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’

‘You do enough of that.’ Peter urged quietly, rubbing his fingers against Stiles’ arm, as though he could keep him warm and protected from the horrible weather ‘Why are you here?’

‘Just a bad dream, that’s all,’ Stiles whispered ‘I don’t know where it came from, and I know it would never happen, it was…my dad hit me,’ Stiles laughed a little ‘it’s insane, right? My _dad._ The Sheriff. Sheriff Stilinski who covers for me when I take photographs of evidence or listen in on phone calls. My dad who risks his life every day for me and arrests Jackson every time I yell. It was just a bad dream.’

Peter swallowed thickly. ‘Have you spoken to him?’

‘Yeah, dreams are always messed up as shit. So I figured it means I miss him. And I do. He’s been so busy, lately. We’re having lunch tomorrow.’

Peter smiled softly ‘that’s good.’ There was silence for a beat longer ‘your father is a very good man, Stiles. You’re very lucky to have each other.’

Stiles smiled ‘I know. I’m lucky to have you too,’

‘Anyone would be lucky to have me. I’m probably one of the best people in this town.’

Stiles mock winced ‘probably? Ooh. Not too sure about that, are you? Someone messing with your head?’

Peter kissed Stiles’ temple ‘everything’s going to be okay,’

The wind whistled loudly over them. ‘I know, Wolfie. I know.’

**Author's Note:**

> WOOO! I'm on a bit of a roll tonight guys! This is how we should spend new years eve every year! WHO'S WITH ME!


End file.
